


Open Within

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Impregnation Attempt, Light Dom/sub, Mild Feminization, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Sibling Incest, Size Difference, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Torgrim wants twins. Not for himself.
Relationships: Atli/Presumable Canon Wife (Vinland Saga), Torgrim/Atli (Vinland Saga), Torgrim/Atli/Atli's Wife (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 1
Collections: Anonymous





	Open Within

**Author's Note:**

> Some ancient cultures believed twins were conceived through two different fathers, which often led to trouble for the mothers. Torgrim has a similar idea here. This is separate from my previous fics about Atli's family life.
> 
> Still @vincestsaga on twitter 👍

"Hey. You."

Her brother-in-law's voice rouses her—perhaps he shoves her, too, or perhaps it's the jolt of waking. The fire's light is brighter than it ought to be at this hour. At least, the hour her body is telling her it is.

It's not entirely a surprise that her brother-in-law is in bed next to her. It occurs to her that fear is an option. But the way he's acted this past month, it's impossible to think he'd attempt any outrage against Atli's property. He's always been more likely to sneak into bed with her husband than with her. And as she sits up, it's no surprise at all that that's exactly what's going on.

Why they've woken her up is the real question. It's past midnight, she's sure of that, and the suspicion that's grown over her these past weeks is confirmed. It feels like watching a neighbor's lamb spring up into adulthood out of the corner of one's eye. Over all at once, and only looking back do the stages stand out.

First she married. A few years caring for a child in a man's body, with a husband bringing home decent if irregular money. No question, ever, of skimping on her brother-in-law's meals. Sex occasionally. No pregnancy. No show of temper over her failure to conceive. Then a vanished husband.

She'd been alone with her brother-in-law before, of course. He was a hard worker, for about ten minutes at a time, at whatever little tasks he was set. And she'd told herself, back then, that if it ever happened that Atli didn't come home, Torgrim would have to go. It would be a shame, in the way a crib death is always a shame, but keeping him was a luxury. Without Atli to bring money home, it would be suicide.

She didn't turn him out, of course. No one ever told her where to do it, for one thing. Into the woods, or onto the beach. Which houses to lead him past; which path to take on the way home, traveling alone. How to be sure he doesn't find his way back. People don't talk about these things, even when they know you're the only one in the village taking care of such an infirmity. Perhaps they were never told themselves, or perhaps it's customary that the burdened have to figure it out for themselves.

Now they're both home. And if Torgrim remembers how the food stretched to support two while his brother was gone, it doesn't stop his hand from tightening on her husband's arm when she walks past.

She's wondered once or twice if he really was born her husband's brother, or a battlefield friendship that Atli refused to let go of. With the way he was before, it was impossible to imagine anything else to that battlefield friendship. She hardly could have imagined this. But even back then there was a sense of something a bit too close.

When they first returned, people expected Torgrim would be gone soon, once it was clear that he was staying the way he was. If Atli was anything but faintly baffled by their hints in that direction, no one ever reported it. She thought, _then_ , that she could certainly turn Torgrim out if Atli vanished. And if he didn't, well, her children would be safe, so long as Atli was around. Even if she died herself. Turning his own blood out into the cold would never so much as cross his mind, and he'd never remarry to anyone who'd do it.

Now, it seems she was the second marriage all along.

"What is it?" It's clear enough what they're doing. There's no point asking that.

"We're putting some babies in you. Twins."

"Now?"

"In a minute. He's almost ready."

"We've tried already." There's something refreshing about the bluntness. He was blunt before, but in the way children are. Lacking in social graces. This is a choice. "Nothing seems to take."

"You haven't had him while I'm having him." So saying, Torgrim returns to her husband—to his brother. Atli hasn't spared her a glance. There's enough of Torgrim hanging down that he can bury his face in it, and that's what he's been doing. Not something he's ever done with her breasts, although those have never been hanging above him.

They've been attached to each other since their eyes met, as near as she can tell. The sound Atli made when his brother lifted him—it's no sound he's ever made upon seeing her. Nor even in bed with her.

_"Fucking hell." Torgrim has his brother a half inch off the ground, in a protective bear hug nothing like the too-tight squeezes he's given ever since she's known them. "Where've you been keeping yourself?"_

_Atli just clings. Something about his face isn't quite right, but his hair, unbrushed and unwashed, is covering too much to make it out for certain. His clothes are simple, brown, and ratty. His hands are trembling. Torgrim lowers him to the ground and grips his shoulders tight when his legs start to shake._

_"Come on." Torgrim's voice is calmer than she's ever heard it. "You're freezing. Let's get you inside."_

_The first hint of discomfort comes when she sees her brother-in-law leading her husband inside with a hand on the small of his back. But the situation is bizarre enough that it almost seems normal. In any case, this isn't the time to be demanding answers. The real problem is that he's shaking with hunger._

_To his credit, Torgrim feeds Atli his own dinner before giving him hers as well. The meals are small ones, and she spares a few seconds to check her husband up and down for a sack or a wallet she already knows isn't there. Torgrim's checking him up and down too, over and over. She has a feeling he's not concerned with the money._

_But she's fond of Atli. It's a relief having him back. She makes two more even smaller dinners out of a sausage she was hoping to leave unsliced for another week, and Torgrim takes his share without looking at her._

_"I'm all right," Atli keeps saying. Once he says it to her, with a smile. When Torgrim leads him to bed, he leans heavily against his brother, but this time he's squeezing Torgrim's arm back tightly._

Three weeks or so later, Atli's arms have their strength back, and they're still locked around the back of Torgrim's neck as if he's in danger of falling. She's not sure how much weight he lost, or how much he's gained back. There's something almost womanish in how slight he looks beneath his brother. But the movement of his hips is sure and demanding, and Torgrim is the one nudging his partner out of his cleavage, first for a gentle kiss—Atli's panting heavily, and for a second or two it comes out quieter through his nose—and then for something she's never even imagined a man doing. Torgrim lowers his head and takes her husband's cock in his mouth. It's a strangely tender thing to watch. Atli makes a little keening sound not of surprise, but of pleasure, and his hand squeezes tight into Torgrim's hair.

Her own thighs rub together involuntary as she watches Atli move his hips as if he's fucking Torgrim's mouth, and when Torgrim's hand comes up to still him she's surprised to find herself wet. It's a light touch on one hip, but Atli stops himself like a chastened wife.

"Impatient," Torgrim whispers, coming up to kiss him again.

"Of course I am." Atli lets himself be kissed with the same mouth that was just between his legs. For a few moments the sight of two men together is overwhelming. Two deep voices, their _wanting_ uncolored by logic. Her husband's newly-returned strength yielding at his own brother's touch. Her hand slips between her legs.

"Let's get you up." Torgrim pulls Atli into a seated position, then glances at her. "Get your tits out for him."

Atli looks more interested in clinging to his brother than in her tits, but she doesn't mind getting undressed. Torgrim swings him around while she's doing that, until Atli's in his lap, facing her.

She looks at her husband, cradled in his brother's arms, and he looks at her.

"You think this is going to work?"

"I don't care if it works. I just want it." His voice is tired but sure. "It's nearly five years. So much of my life. I need my brother. I need him."Torgrim makes soothing noises, but for once Atli's attention is fixed on her. "Please. If things—change again, I just need this." He grabs at her hand. "In this bed, to remember."

"You might get more than that." She doesn't draw her hand away. "You want me to carry another man's child along with yours?"

"Yes." His grip tightens, almost painfully. "If I can remember him this way—please."

She's spent her married life alone with one brother or the other. Now she's alone in the house, wherever they are. A child—even one—that would be another presence. Torgrim's arms are holding her husband from behind, his brow heavy with the effort it takes not to pull him away. There's no chance of any child squeezing into the space between them.

It would have to be hers.

"You'd care for them both?"

"They'd both be my blood. It doesn't make any difference which is which."

It's true. He's never been anything but devoted to his brother. Sentimentally, stupidly devoted.

"Well..." She kneels in front of them, taking stock of how wide her legs will need to spread to mount him. "If it works, then it works."

"Dearest," Torgrim murmurs—and Atli closes his eyes to her, leaning back into his brother's embrace. "You first. Your woman. Your oldest boy." He looks her up and down, taking in her breasts and what must be the shadows between her legs, as if making sure there's nothing much there. "You never did like ‘em busty." He addresses her a moment later. "Isn't he gorgeous?"

It's not a word she's ever thought to apply to her husband. He's a decade and a half older than she, and his sexual advances have been limited to the darkness, on nights when his brother could be trusted to sleep through instead of crawling in with them. Torgrim's voice is proud, and she can't help looking for the gorgeous in Atli's pale face, the lines of age deepened by the flashes of firelight.

The scars on his body are few. The bruises have faded in the time since his return, leaving few signs of his absence save the shadows beneath his ribs. He wasn't gone long enough to start actually starving, but there was never much of him to begin with. His head leans backwards onto Torgrim's right shoulder, as if he's trying to recede into his brother. A trace of puffiness remains around one eye, and Torgrim's head bends as if to hide it from her, pressing a kiss to Atli's forehead. His hair, as shaggy as his beard, hangs down over his brother's face, obscuring the swelling from sight. It doesn't blend the way their facial hair does, even in the dimness of the firelight.

"Get up on top. It's how he likes it."

Her husband's legs spread beneath her are a very different matter from his weight on top of her in the night. Eyes open halfway, he angles his cock up and lifts his hips slightly, well-used to presenting himself for use. Up on her knees, she hesitates for a moment.

"Not like that." Torgrim's hand is at his brother's hip, pushing insistently.

"There's an angle," Atli says softly. Torgrim huffs and pulls his hand back.

She lifts herself as high as she can and lowers herself onto him. Her husband holds still, letting her take his cock in at her own pace. It's strange feeling a man so obedient. Yet his pleased groan is that of someone being given exactly what he's demanded.

"Haven't tried it like this, have you?"

"I've been doing fine," Atli sighs. His hips pause expectantly beneath her, and the pulse at the top of her entrance goes on, half-muted.

Torgrim makes a wordless sound of pure delight. "Stupid," he coos into Atli's ear, "you thought you were gonna knock her up with you pushing yourself up on top?"

"Leave me alone. What else could I do, I didn't have—I—"

"Didn't have your big brother. My sweet boy." He nips Atli's ear and she feels Atli's cock twitch very slightly against her walls. "Come on, I'm here now. Move with me."

Every girl has her own private fantasy of a rough, commanding Viking. Tall, strong, given to exciting rages and manhandling. Such men are less in demand as husbands. And few girls enjoy being made to submit as a matter of course. Seeing another man doing the submitting—willingly, at that—is like watching the fantasy made flesh in a very new way. Her body isn't much interested in the fact fact that it's her own husband being held in a bigger man's lap and treated as if he's the one with a cock inside him. The fact that he's so completely mastered, without any of that spilling over onto her, is enough to drive her heartbeat down into her cunt. Even if Atli were on top of her, he'd be looking to his brother for help. Being on top of him, helping to hold him in his proper place, makes her hips come down sharply, and he responds with a mewl of such unmanly pleasure that she almost feels a man herself. It suits him, honestly. It's more at odds with his age than his slim frame and the way he's always kissed her very properly on the neck before starting to ride her. He's a gentle, devoted husband who likes getting held in his brother's stronger arms and fucked like a woman.

As if prompted by her thoughts, Torgrim's hand creeps down to her husband's hip in a way that reminds her of something important.

"Don't start fucking him if you're going to end it by fucking me."

Torgrim gives her an ugly look. She's seen him cry too many times to be intimidated. "What's the matter, you don't think your own husband's clean?"

"No, she's right." Atli puts a restraining hand on his arm. "It might hurt the babies."

"What's it gonna do, give them brown eyes?" Then, reverting to a tenderness more painful than arousing: "All right. Anything you want."

The fact that Atli, still quivering from being held helpless between them, can hold him in check like that is something to be thought about at a later date.

She comes before he does. It's a strong one that leaves her shivering, and the soft noise Atli makes, as if he's been squeezed by a strong hand, feels in her ears almost like a second one. It's the sound of a bitch dog being used for the tenth time in a single day. Torgrim follows it with the low growl of the dog who wants everyone to know he got there first.

"Can I?" Atli's eyes are closed. If there are any thoughts of her inside his head, sinking backwards on his brother's shoulder, they're faint.

"Almost." Torgrim keeps him moving, slowly. He clearly has more than one firm belief about conception. She lets them move together into her still-sensitive inner parts. It feels good, in a queer way. She imagines stroking a bruise.

After a minute of this strange pleasure, Torgrim speaks again. To her this time. "All right, get ready. Don't let it spill out." His voice softens as he squeezes Atli's shoulder tight for a second. "I'll get you moving, then you do the last bit for yourself. All right?"

She doesn't bother letting him know that spunk doesn't have to be sealed into a woman's cunt for a baby to take root. For all she knows he's right, when it comes to twins.

Atli takes hold of her shoulders in his usual way, when it's his turn. It's not that he can't do the active work himself. It's just not accompanied by the same satisfied noises. He comes in his usual way, gives her the usual kiss on the neck, and then nestles back into his brother's arms. "Thanks," he adds, as she climbs off him, holding her thighs together as well as she can.

"Come on, don't do that," Torgrim chides him, but nuzzles him as one would a child who's just destroyed something and apologized too cutely for anger.

"Your turn. Be polite."

"Oh, I know." Torgrim lowers him and makes sure he's settled comfortably before looking up. He pushes her over and settles on top of her in a way Atli never has. His hands perform the same kind of check his eyes did earlier, and come to rest on her hips after a quick pass over her breasts. His touch has been curious before, something to be shaken off firmly and redirected. This is an inspection.

"So what's in it for you?"

His eyes dart up in an unmistakable direction. A little squeeze on her left hip. "My brother gets what he wants."

"And you get him?"

A laugh. "He was never yours."

Sex with Atli hasn't been lacking in passion. There's just been the knowledge that any noise will wake Torgrim—no more than any parent has to deal with, of course. But if Torgrim wakes up, there's no soothing him and starting over. Sex is over for the night. Once or twice Atli's gone to calm him down and fallen asleep cuddling him. Her husband's as gentle with her as he is with his brother.

And, it seems, he's as gentle with his brother as he is with his wife.

This, on the other hand, is closer to a dog trying to show dominance. The way he's humping her is trying very hard to be the opposite of the way Atli had her—or the way she had Atli. His hands are firm, but in constant motion. Curious, or nervous. He doesn't seem to mind her breasts now, but his touch isn't gentle enough to make it fun.

Torgrim's given her kisses before, and she's given them back. For years a whiskery kiss was his way of rewarding good behavior—a special snack or a new toy. She'd give a quick friendly one back. Not enough to encourage him. It's hard to tell if Torgrim remembers any of that now, but it's a relief when he shies away as if by instinct. His face is too closely tied in her mind to the way he used to be.

His prick feels no bigger than his brother's, but he uses it with more ambition, and it might reach deeper if taken in the same position. He pushes and pulls with his own determined rhythm and seems uninterested in whether she's filling in the other half. It's a rhythm Atli must know, but he's never taught it to her in these four years.

It's not a rough rhythm, exactly; just one that proceeds with or without her, and the effect on her entrance is similarly ambivalent. It's a pleasant feeling, but not enough to chase. She knows what Torgrim's goal is, anyway, and he gets there quickly, spilling inside her with an oath. He pulls out more roughly than he fucked her, and she's left to carefully move her hips and legs back into a position for sleep that also holds the seed inside her.

Her husband is in his brother's arms when she turns her attention back to them, being kissed and cuddled more like a child than a lover. He never kissed the old Torgrim much, but he's always been the one who gives cuddles at bedtime. Not just because it's his brother, but because, small as he is, it's safer for him than for a frail woman, with a cuddling partner who doesn't know his own strength.

He looks like a spoilt cat now, curling into a familiar affection and accepting it as his right by birth. Eyes closed, he lifts his chin, presenting his face for attention with a smug half-grin, and groans happily when Torgrim attacks his face, one hand moving from the small of his back to the back of his head. With all of them spent, it's no longer a question of arousal, but she watches for a minute with as much interest as she can muster. She's in the presence of an oddity.

"You're happy? Nothing else you need?"

"Nothing." As Atli speaks he turns his head, demanding a kiss, and Torgrim presses his whole face to his brother's neck. Atli relaxes into the mattress, arms sinking to his sides, and they're both silent for a minute.

"Two strong boys," Torgrim says when he pulls away at last. "Just wait and see." He brushes the hair out of Atli's face, heedless of the mess his own hair's become.

"Mmm." Atli's voice is thick and satisfied, and Torgrim doesn't speak again, just pets his forehead a few times before pulling back to let him rest.

Her husband's asleep between them when she rolls over to face Torgrim.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

He knows what she means. "Why, and where did it start?"

"Ask your husband. His business."

"He'll dodge it. He's hardly told me anything about you."

Torgrim's silent for a few moments. Just when she thinks she'll have to press more, or give up, he speaks. "You'd better not move. Don't let any of it slide out."

"I'm doing my best."

He gives her a glance, and seems satisfied with her commitment to bearing his brother's children. He looks down at Atli next, as if doing so is necessary to put his thoughts in order, and begins.

"We always kept each other warm. At night, you know. And when we started traveling, we'd be tired out in the evenings. Different type of work than we were used to. If we needed to take care of anything, we'd just roll away for a few minutes. I'd wait till he fell asleep, and he'd wait for me."

He pauses. She nods to show that she doesn't need his meaning explained like she's a child. "I woke up one night and he hadn't rolled away. Just touching himself lying there against me.

"I didn't say anything. He could tell I was awake, but it didn't bother me any, so I drifted off. Never said anything about it, ‘cause there was nothing to say. We went to sleep drunk half the time anyway. Both tired."

Atli twitches, as if chiming in that yes, it was all perfectly normal, and Torgrim's attention is on him, eyes searching his face until he's satisfied his brother is still asleep. When he resumes, his voice is matter-of-fact. "Went on like that for a while. Sometimes him, sometimes me. And when he started saying my name, real quiet to himself, I knew he was asking.

"I could feel his heart racing, he was so scared I'd be angry. I never could stand him getting scared over nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." He pronounces it firmly. "I always liked making him happy. He's the only thing I really gave a damn about."

"And now?"

"Still."

"One of the boys will be yours." His certainty that she's going to conceive is infectious.

"They're both his." He's equally sure of that. "Our blood's the same. He's the one who needs sons. They'll take care of him if... if he needs it."

"That's the only reason you got me involved?"

"Well, you're in it now too. So you can't rat him out. And Atli—"

She knows this much about her husband, at least. "That's not what he was thinking about, was it?"

Torgrim grunts. "He's old enough to be broken of it, but—well, it's because we're brothers, he always had me around to—well, _you_ know how he is!"

Devoted. Faintly baffled by hints at the sensible course of action. "Not cut out for sneakiness?"

"Fucking forty year old bandit." Torgrim stares down at him, brow knit in frustration. "Stupid little boy who can't sneak around on his wife—don't get me started, I'll wake him up."

She'd rather he not raise a fuss, either. She has a feeling the sky's lighter outside than it was when she was woken, and her body's not compensating any longer for the loss of sleep. He doesn't react when she yawns, just keeps looking at his brother. At her husband, she reminds herself. But the distinction is growing thin.

Torgrim sobbed in his bed for a few nights after she finally told him she wasn't sure, this time, when Atli would be home. Remembering that, it's hard to suppress the instinct to tell him to get some sleep. But he's an adult man now, and not one who likes taking advice. He's more likely to stay awake out of defiance if she does.

So she leaves him to stand guard over his brother. He sleeps best when Atli lies down with him, anyway. The rooster won't care what reason they had to be up late. Breakfast will be ready at the usual hour. And it'll be the same breakfast as always. She's only eating for one, for the moment.


End file.
